


Ablutions

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Community: sons_of_gondor, M/M, Masturbation, Vignette, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-31
Updated: 2009-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After so long on the road, Boromir longed to be clean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ablutions

**Author's Note:**

> The recipient wanted something NC-17 and set in Rivendell, and while s/he likes Aragorn/Boromir, s/he was "interested in something a bit different and Gandalf needs some action anyways." I hope I've managed that here. Many thanks to [](http://savageseraph.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://savageseraph.livejournal.com/)**savageseraph** for all her help.
> 
> (Implied Aragorn/Arwen.)

The weight of filth from the road weighed Boromir down almost as much as the task that had rested on his shoulders for more than one hundred days. Aching muscles, fatigue brought on by too many sleepless nights, and the knowledge that he had been too long away from his duties in the White City dampened the relief he should have felt at finally discovering The Last Homely House. He only hoped that these Elves would understand the dream both he and his brother had borne, and more than that, that they would share that wisdom to the benefit of his beloved city.

The Elves that had greeted him had ushered him to rooms so palatial they rivalled his own at home. If he had not been so fatigued, he would have wept at the sight of such comforts, but instead he took their counsel and made his way to the communal baths to slough off the road he had left behind. They had told him that there was to be a great Council that day, and that Elrond, Master of Imladris, welcomed the Man of Gondor's attendance, but before Boromir would assent, he felt compelled to scrub himself free of grime, to recover some level of cleanliness that would allow him to better regain the veneer of civility and diplomacy such meetings inevitably required.

The hallways en route to the baths were hushed in the early morning light, and while Boromir heard soft voices as he passed shadowed corridors, he met no one as he made his way to the springs. Once there, he disrobed, leaving his soiled clothing with an attendant who promised to return with fresh vestments, and after a short, brisk scrub to rid himself of the worst of the dirt, he picked his way over the tiled floor and down gentle steps into the steaming, welcoming waters.

He found himself a perch on one side of a slightly opaque screen that stretched over a third of the pool, providing a small measure of privacy from the larger watery expanse. He leaned back, groaning as the water lapped at his collarbone, luxuriating in the heat as his muscles began to unknot for the first time since he'd begun his journey. Grateful for small mercies, Boromir let his eyes slip closed, and soon he found himself drifting, senseless to all but the warmth and soothing wetness.

"...although I fear he shall always carry a scar, one that goes deeper than mere flesh."

Boromir jerked awake, water rippling and sloshing around his naked form as he straightened, blinking, struggling to regain his bearings. His fingers clenched into a fist, gripping nothing where there should have been a hilt, and his body tensed, readying itself to fend off an attack. He crouched, making himself more invisible, hoping the orcs that had plagued him so in the heart of ruined Tharbad had not followed him into the Greyflood crossing. Yet as his heart thundered in his ears and no attack came, he blinked, vision clearing of misty dread to recognize the muted mosaics and towering pillars that surrounded the pool he now sat in. The sounds that roused him filtered out into quiet voices conversing on the other side of the barrier.

"...so my Lady bid me to go and make friends with those I was friendly with once again. And so I went in search of you."

A soft answering chuckle sounded oddly familiar to his ears, and not wishing to cause any more surprise than he himself had been subject to, Boromir drifted over to the screen, making out shapes on the other side. As he neared the barrier, he realized that it was made up of multiple sections, long sheets of fabric stretched tight, one after the other, and painted with intricate, yet faint designs. Boromir felt his cheeks flush as a series of swirls resolved themselves into shapes resembling naked figures coupling, and shook his head to clear the image from his mind. He was seeing things, nothing more, no doubt brought on by a lack of sleep and proper rations.

The screen towered above him, each panel not quite flush with the next, leaving small, discreet gaps that allowed for a clear view of the pool's other side. Despite his better nature, Boromir found himself peering through the gap closest to him, trying to get a clear glimpse of the figures beyond.

At first there was little to see, although Boromir could hear soft words turning to softer laughter. He shifted a little, floating slightly to the left of the screen, and suddenly he was able to discern the broad, tanned backs of two men facing away from him. The younger of the two -- or so Boromir surmised, given the darkness of his hair and suppleness of his skin -- brushed long grey hair over the shoulder of the older as he kneaded at the man's shoulders. Both were bobbing in water up to their chests, and from time to time the dark-haired man would cup his hands and pour a little water over his companion's head, careful to keep it out of his face. They kept up their conversation, now too quiet for Boromir to catch more than the odd word, but when the older man turned his head to smile at the younger, his long grey beard damp and dragging through the pool, Boromir's breath caught in his throat. He knew that man.

_Mithrandir_.

Of course, the last time he had seen the old wizard, he had been clad all in grey, not a wisp of flesh uncovered save his face and hands. His own brother, his beloved Faramir, had sat not a foot from the man, drinking in each word that dropped from his lips as if it were the finest ale.

Yet here and now, Mithrandir was naked to air and water, seemingly as vulnerable and human as anyone could be.

"Aragorn." Mithrandir stilled the other man's movements as he spoke his name, catching Aragorn's wrist as he turned around. His expression was open and filled with trust and something Boromir could only identify as willingness, but for what, he did not know.

The space of half a breath brought him knowledge, however, as Mithrandir slid the fingers of his free hand through Aragorn's hair, cupping his head and pulling him close enough to capture his mouth in a kiss. Boromir gaped as Aragorn slid his arms around Mithrandir's back, arching against him, his hips shifting in open invitation.

Boromir was no child; he was a soldier, and he knew well-enough of soldiers' comforts, had a taste for them that went beyond battlefield comfort, yet he had never been witness to such open enjoyment between men. Still, the sight in front of him stirred something low in the pit of his belly, and almost as with a will of their own, his fingers dipped below the water, brushing across his abdomen as he watched all the more intently.

He strained his ears, catching Aragorn's moan as Mithrandir released him from the kiss, their chests heaving, mingled breath fast and deep. He tried and failed to catch the wizard's next words, but Aragorn nodded eagerly, breaking away and moving to the side of the pool, kneeling on a raised seat and leaning over the edge, out of Boromir's sight-line. When he leaned back, he had something in his hand that proved to be a small vial that he turned over to Mithrandir.

Once the vial was out of his hands, Aragorn turned his back and settled on the step, widening his stance and arching his back. He wet his lips, his gaze seeming to slide over the partition screening Boromir from their sight, the smallest ghost of a smile on his face. Boromir flinched, trying and failing to quell the desire to crouch further down in the water, expecting any minute to be called out.

But when no such shout went up, Boromir relaxed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He shivered as the scene in front of him remained imprinted on the darkness of his mind, and he allowed himself the luxury of a slight brush of fingertips up the shaft of his prick, hardening at the image of Mithrandir and Aragorn as much as his own attentions.

By the time he reopened his eyes, Mithrandir had moved closer to Aragorn, stroking his back even as he breached him with his fingers. Boromir was not sure if the resultant gasp was imagined, but the arch of Aragorn's neck, the expression on his face was enough to convince Boromir that even if he had not heard it, Aragorn had surely groaned.

Boromir's own fingers curled around his cock, stroking slowly, drawing out the sensations. He rubbed his thumb over a sensitive spot just under the head, biting his lip as his whole body shuddered. He shivered once again as Mithrandir rose slightly out of the pool, his prick hard and curving against his abdomen. This time, he heard Aragorn's moan as Mithrandir slipped his fingers free and pressed against him, the head of his cock disappearing slowly between Aragorn's cheeks.

Boromir swallowed heavily, squeezing his prick even as Mithrandir thrust deeper, jostling Aragorn enough to make him shift his weight to his arms, bow his head. His eyes grew wider as he pressed close to the space between screens, gaze on Mithrandir's cock as it moved, now disappearing from view, now reappearing, each new motion drawing more desperate noises from Aragorn's throat.

For one brief moment Boromir imagined himself pressed between them, buried balls-deep in Aragorn even as Mithrandir breached him over and over again. He wondered what Aragorn's skin would taste like as he watched Mithrandir drag his tonguetip across Aragorn's shoulder blades, imagined how Mithrandir's cock would stretch and fill him as Aragorn reached for his own prick. Boromir pressed his teeth into his bottom lip, hoping to muffle any tell-tale noise as he rocked forward, thrusting into his hand, riding a wave of lust made stronger by the enforced drought of the solitary road.

At first, Boromir thought the cry had issued from his own throat, his prick twitching against his palm, his body shuddering its way to completion. His hips jerked as he spilled over his fingers, the water carrying away all evidence as if it had not even happened. But the sound was not his own; through the gap Boromir could see Mithrandir gripping Aragorn by the hair, his jaw set even as his thrusts sped up, faster and faster, while Aragorn thrashed beneath him, shouting, pleading, groaning as he ground himself backward onto Mithrandir's cock. The slap of flesh against flesh filled the air, and Boromir's nostrils flared as he breathed in the scent of sex, thick and heady.

Another shout, and both men shuddered, frozen for one long a moment before they relaxed as if released from some enchantment. Mithrandir slumped over Aragorn's back, and Aragorn breathed out one more moan, this time letting it roll into a satisfied purr.

Boromir's cheeks flamed, the full measure of what he'd witnessed finally setting light to his dimmed moral capacity, bringing with it a flood of shame. He sank beneath the water, letting it close above his head, hoping the men would leave before his air ran out and he had to resurface. Yet he could not quite stifle a groan, which loosed a thin stream of bubbles from his lips, releasing them to float upward and tangle in his hair. Although he had just spent, his cock twitched slightly, instantly reminding him of the image of man and wizard coupling, of his own desire to drink the dregs of their passion. For all his scrubbing, this bath had left Boromir feeling anything but clean.


End file.
